


Sow thy seeds (and learn thy lessons)

by The_Readers_Muse



Series: WOLVES NOT FAR [2]
Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV), The Walking Dead - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha Wolf is not a nice man and not a nice teacher either, Angst, Animal Death, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Gen, Hostage Situations, I mean Denise isn't really here for it and Alpha Wolf definately has a thing thing for her, Kidnapping, Somehow, and they both still hate each other so, but things are working out kinda, party time really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-05 04:52:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5362079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Readers_Muse/pseuds/The_Readers_Muse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They waited for three days at the den, but the pack never returned home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead. Everything belongs to whoever owns them, my wishful thinking aside.
> 
> Authors Note #1: This scenario is based vaguely off the end of 6x08 where we last see Denise and Alpha-wolf walking out of the door of the house and into the street. – Two part of my "Wolves under your front porch," series. And sequel to "Salt of the earth (type of dangerous)"
> 
> Warnings: Spoilers for 6x08, kidnapping/hostage situation, Alpha-wolf is not a good person, Denise is a puff pastry of goodness. I think you guys know how this type of stuff works out, animal death, canon appropriate violence.

" _Just be still."_

" _Don't-"_

" _Lower the guns. Lower the guns. Good. Slide them over. I want them. "_

" _You don't need her."_

" _No, I don't. Back. …Back."_

" _You're not going to make it out there."_

" _We'll see."_

* * *

 

They waited for three days at the den, but the pack never returned home. He called for them. Singing the songs they'd sung together into the wind. Howling for them by night and doing wide-ranging circles through the brush during the day. But he received no answer.

Part of him knew the reason.

Pack was a constant thing. Predictable. Comforting. Grounding. Those who'd survived Alexandria would have looped back to familiar ground. They would have waited to regroup in their territory. His Beta would have assumed control in his absence. Perhaps even challenged him for leadership on his return. They would not have abandoned the nest, especially not with their packs and supplies still cached and half hidden under rotting stumps and tin-can trash heaps. There could only be one reason why the den was empty.

But the rest of him also understood what it was to be Alpha.

This was  _his_  pack.  _His responsibility._  And while even the most practical part of him knew what had happened, he still had to go through the motions. He had to double check that the tracks in the dirt around camp were still smoothed over and old. That the fire pits were cold –  _empty_. That the traps Aphid had set had been left unattended and the prey inside spoiling slowly in the late summer heat. That the nest of blankets inside the den – an earthy hollow of rock and soil, shielded from the elements by a sheath of camouflaged tarp – remained untouched.

He tied her to a tree at the mouth of the den after dawn every morning. Paying her little attention as he reacquainted himself with his territory in quarter-mile stretches as his side itched and burned. Sweating the fever out as he dug his fingers deep into the bark of the trees he already knew by smell. Wondering sluggishly if he might be able to feel the forest's pulse if he could only reach deep enough. If he could just reconnect with that barren little shard that lived in the center of his belly and-

It took him longer than it should have to recognize the expression on her face.

To understand the meaning behind the careful, hesitant words falling from her lips.

_Pity._

He took great pleasure in slapping it off her face.

Pity was something given by the weak to commemorate those they thought less fortunate than themselves. It was not something that applied to him in any respect. In fact, it made the hairs on the back of his neck prickle at the insinuation. He was an Alpha without a pack. But he was still an Alpha – an apex predator. It was high time she learned her first lesson the hard way. Never believe you are above the animal that has already scented you as prey.

She didn't look at him in the eye at all after that.

Not for a long time.

* * *

The first lesson he taught her was what hunger - real hunger - tasted like. How it curdled like old blood across your tongue as the acids in your stomach tried to climb up your throat and choke you. How it was like a hole in your belly that couldn't be filled. That it weakened you. That it killed you in inches and that no matter who you were - an Alpha or the lowest of prey – you had to know to how to provide for yourself.

"I'm hungry," she told him the first morning.

He nodded then ignored her. Uninterested in anything more complicated than the water he willingly shared with her as his side burned, threatening fever again. He slept on and off and looked for signs of his pack.

She went hungry.

She said the same the second day. Biting on her lower lip like there was a pain there she couldn't soothe as she wrapped one of the blankets from the den tight around her shoulders. Anger and resentment deflated in favor of more fulfilling prospects. Wary, but this time with needs that had to be met. Just like any animal.

He nodded again. Feeling his own stomach burble hungry for the first time since the infection had set in. He cleaned the traps carefully – mindful of the spreading weakness in his limbs – setting aside the spoiled game before resetting them. Burning the carcasses and burying the ashes as she watched, shifting her weight from one foot to the other – nervous.

By the time night fell, one of the snares near the small gully-river had trapped a skinny, yearling hare. He snapped its neck with a pleased sound and returned home. The spoils of his hunt drawing her out of the den yet again as he gutted the hare and set it over the fire to be cooked.

She fidgeted, settling onto the log opposite him across the fire when he eased it off the roasting spit. Licking his fingers with long, exaggerated draws as she waited for him to pass her a share.

Again, he ignored her.

Instead he ate the entire thing without offering her even a sliver. Crunching at the gristle and gnawing laboriously on the ends of the bones. Even going so far as to suck the marrow out of the bones before letting them drop one by one, hissing into the fire. Watching her struggle with herself until she couldn't hold it in any longer.

"You bastard," she hissed, eyes glittering. Threatening angry tears between clenched teeth. Meaning every second of it as he stamped out the fire and tugged the length of rope that bound her hands.

"It's time to rest," he told her, yanking her into the den after him as the predators of the night eagerly took their place upon the greater forest stage.

* * *

 

The next morning he woke to find her staring down at him in the dark of the den. Pale skin streaked with dirt, eyes glittering a desperate sort of manic he remembered well from when he had been forced to learn the same lesson.

He ignored the instinct that urged him to streak up and take her neck between his teeth.

To remind her.

To make sure she knew.

To see how pretty she looked when she submitted.

Instead, he forced himself still, eyes sliding from the smudged-moist her glasses to the raw-red of her bound wrists. Meeting her, inch for inch as she looked him right in the eye.

"Can you teach me?"

Again he nodded. But this time a predatory-pleased smile split his lips.

_He'd been waiting for this._

"All you ever had to do was ask," he told her, sleep-hoarse and strangely proud as she wrenched her hands in front of her to be untied. Clearly ready to get started as he stretched in place, taking his time to ease the kinks of his bones and check the dressings around his wound as she made impatient noises in her throat and bled  _determination – hunger - rage_  into the air around his head.

He arched a brow before he reached up and untied the knots, feeling her stiffen as he jerked her down – close. Breathing her in as her breath haze warm and insolent across his cheek. Clearly wanting nothing to do with him despite their coming lesson as she scrambled away - crab-like - the moment her hands were free. Hating him with her eyes as she jammed her glasses straight and wriggled out of the den like the very air he breathed was offensive.

_Feisty._

_But better yet, she was learning._


	2. Chapter 2

Her hands were hunger-clumsy, but eventually she was able to mimic a basic knot snare. He showed her twice through before she picked up her length of rope. Forgetting to keep her distance as she slapped at his hands when he leaned down and accidentally blocked the way. So engrossed in the lesson that nothing else registered.

She was different than the others, the rest of his pack had not been like this. She was bright – intelligent. But forgetful and easily distracted. She asked questions and argued over where she thought they should place the final product until he bluntly asked her if she wanted to go hungry again. Watching her simmer with childish resentment as he showed her how to set it up, how to hide it in the leaves and camouflage the thin rope in the connecting branches of a dying birch.

She made his chest rumble.

But not with a growl.

_It was…confusing._

He didn't like confusing.

It wasn't something a predator tolerated for very long before the balance had to be reset.

_She would learn._

_She would be pack._

_He'd make sure of it._

_Once she was pack everything would make sense._

* * *

* * *

 

While they waited he told her about the best times to set snares. How to make a dead-fall and how, with time, she would know the best spots to lay down her traps. He showed her with his hands how animals, even prey animals, had patterns - needs. And that once you knew them, you were one step closer to catching them.

By the time dusk fell and they checked her trap, the fat ground squirrel they'd managed to trap was almost free of the knot. Squealing and writhing at the sight of them as it pulled frantically on where its hind leg was still caught fast. Already twisted and broken from where the crude snare had pulled tight.

She hesitated. _Distressed._ _Weak._ Eyes leaking misplaced kindness like blood from a freshly slit throat. Chapped lips making a soft sound as the animal squealed and screamed at their feet. Inches from being free from the noose and dying slowly in the underbrush.

For a long moment he was prepared to let it happen. To let her learn. To let her go hungry tonight so she would never make the same mistake again. But for some reason he was already moving. Like the idea of her going hungry again was unacceptable on a level he didn't understand. By the time he'd internalized the flaws in his reasoning he already had the writhing animal by the scruff. Twisting until he felt the bones strain, then finally snap, going limp in his hands as she flinched. Looking up at him with wide eyes, one hand pressed virginal and horrified against her mouth.

He bared his teeth at her. _Angry._

"Tomorrow you'll do it yourself or you go hungry," he told her, throwing the animal to the dirt at her feet before wheeling around and heading back to camp. Refusing to look down at his hands as the dirty tips twitched spasmodically at his sides. Fighting something he wasn't sure how to name as she choked on the beginning of a word before suddenly thinking better of it.

The aborted skittering of her scrambling to pick up her dinner and follow him was the only sound either of them made for a long time.

* * *

 

He handed her the rest of the spit after he sliced off a choice chunk – rich in fat – for himself as his share. A right that was his alone by status. It was a smaller cut than he would have normally taken from his pack's usual hunts. Judging her need greater than his. Still, even though he made no move to take more she ate fast and furtive like he might snatch it from her at any moment. Wary as the banked flames hissed and spat between them.

He just chuckled as juices dripped down her chin. Watching her through the dark curtain of his hair as he imagined what she might do if he just reached over and grabbed the rest of it. Would she fight? Bite? Would she challenge him? Or would she simply hunker low and whine? Prodding and annoying like a yearling pup in need of an attitude adjustment?

Every possibility was fresh.

Peaked and interesting, just like her.

She wasn't as quick of a study as he'd been.

But she was still breathing.

* * *

* * *

 

It took her four days to learn how to free herself.

The change in the way she sat was obvious, giving the game away before she'd figured out how to play the first piece. But otherwise she was smart. She waited until she thought he was sleeping – napping in the sun outside the den on the hammock his Beta had set up before the weather changed. Creeping up on him with a branch trembling-rough in her hands, ready to hit him and make run for it the moment he was down for the count.

It wouldn't have worked in the first place but it _was_ bold.

It was her first real flirtation with violence and he was captivated from start to finish.

_It was a war game._

_A courtship._

_A challenge!_

All he had to do was wait for the perfect moment and-

He smiled without opening his eyes. Grabbing her arm the moment before the muscles could flex downwards. Feeling the wind as the branch nearly grazed his cheek. Catching her in the act as he used her weight to counter his own and let her pull him upright. Laughing into the wild of her hair as she cried out, struggling.

"Good," he hummed, enjoying the frantic pulse fluttering against his cheek as he dug the sharp of his nails into her joints. Forcing her to drop the branch before his knife returned to its favourite place – pressed liked a lover against the creamy-pale of her throat. "Now, do it again."

The look on her face when he tied her hands behind her back deserved a frame.

* * *

 

It was two days after that that she got free again. This time he rolled her in the dark of the den as the rock meant for the back of his head missed by a breath. Letting the damp soil and stinking blankets muffle the sound of her screams and frustrated yells as he dragged her out into the moonlight and dropped her against a tree. She salted the ground with her tears while he looped a fresh length of rope around the trunk, chest heaving as she refused to meet his stare. Stubborn and angry-stiff.

He held back the words that wanted to spill out as the steam of his breaths left him in a series of harsh, aborted pants as his side burned. Suddenly wanting to tell her everything. Wanting to describe even the warm thrum of pride that was rising in the back of his throat, threatening to choke him from the inside. Finding the contrast almost too much to bear as the sensation of ropes chafing across his skin burned like he was in her place. Like he was back there, desperate and biting on down on his own tongue to quell the rage building in his chest. Cornered and wounded as the Old Alpha laughed and kicked him hard enough that his ribs creaked. Dry heaving as his empty stomach rebelled again and again.

_She didn't need his words._

_She needed to learn._

_And she would._

* * *

 

This time he tied the ropes tight enough that her fingers paled like angry ghosts. Lips twisting with discomfort as the circulation oozed sluggish-slow as she tipped her head back up to look at him. Filthy, wild and wrathful like some long forgotten god of old as he met her eyes coolly, completely unprepared for what happened next.

"You whimper in your sleep," she told him lowly, hissing it through her teeth like even she could taste the disgrace coated on them. Eyes glinting with furious, unshed tears.

The words were harsh.

Designed to wound and put him off balance.

An attempt to even the playing field and soothe her anger all at once.

They were not ineffective.

* * *

He didn't talk to her for the rest of the night.

But not because of anger or pride.

The truth was he didn't know what to say.


End file.
